Last autumn, a 33-year-old individual named Beibei resigned from an optoelectronics factory in Shenzhen and moved north to pursue a career in film and television. At the time, live-action short dramas were highly popular. With experience gained from a screenwriting program at the Beijing Film Academy, Beibei quickly found employment as a scriptwriter at a production company.

However, with the sudden rise of AI-generated short dramas, the company abruptly shifted its focus to AI content. Beibei was reassigned to write scripts for "AI-narrated dramas," tasked with producing five scripts per day, each approximately twenty thousand words long, amounting to formulaic, assembly-line work.

By 2026, after platforms eliminated guaranteed revenue-sharing and other support measures, many production companies saw a sharp decline in projects. With no work available, Beibei was forced to leave the company.

Liu Debing, a professor in the Department of Literature at the Beijing Film Academy, commented that the surge in AI short dramas is not driven by audience demand but by initial platform subsidies designed to boost traffic. Producers exploited these incentives, using "burning cash for views" to generate profits.

Subsidies created the illusion of a thriving industry, but they also brought to light numerous issues, including unauthorized use of facial likenesses, poorly crafted and sensationalist plots, and opportunistic practices aimed at quick financial gains.

For instance, studios representing dozens of celebrities, including Yang Zi, Xiao Zhan, Dilraba Dilmurat, Gong Jun, and Deng Wei, recently issued statements condemning the unauthorized use of their clients' images in AI-generated series. They demanded the immediate removal of such content and cessation of these infringing activities.

The practice of "face theft" is often accompanied by low production quality. From celebrities to ordinary individuals, no one is immune. One social media user reported that photos they posted online were replicated in an AI short drama titled "The Peach Hairpin," with their clothing, makeup, and even facial features copied without consent and used to portray an unsavory character. A commercial model known as "Qihai" also accused the same production of misusing her likeness to depict a villain who assaults women and mistreats animals.

This "face theft" is symptomatic of a broader trend of substandard production. One consumer from Beijing, identified as Ms. Yue, paid 16 yuan to access a full AI short drama. After an initial segment of dynamic scenes, the remainder of the content deteriorated into a slideshow of static AI images accompanied by robotic narration, resembling a basic presentation. Industry sources reveal that producing dynamic AI short dramas costs between 200 and 500 yuan per minute, while static "slideshow" versions cost merely a few cents per minute. Some producers adopt a strategy of high-quality initial episodes to attract viewers, followed by low-effort content to maximize profits through manipulative narrative hooks.

Beibei noted that while writing for live-action short dramas involved submitting concepts for approval followed by a 25-day script development period, the shift to AI-narrated dramas demanded a minimum of five scripts per day. The content became repetitive and formulaic, primarily focusing on clichéd revenge plots. Script approval became lax, with emphasis placed overwhelmingly on quantity over quality.

Li Yishu, a well-known animation scriptwriter, observed that the fundamental logic of AI short drama production has fundamentally changed. In the past, producers had to balance time, cost, and quality, often having to prioritize two of the three. However, with the democratization of AI tools, content creation has become accessible to all, leading to rapidly shifting trends that outpace traditional aesthetic evaluation. Investing heavily in quality is risky, as market preferences can change before a project is completed, rendering the investment ineffective.

Li suggested that cultural products are increasingly resembling fast-moving consumer goods. This represents a comprehensive industry transformation where creators, even individuals, cannot ignore the influence of platform algorithms and traffic dynamics. He also emphasized that content generated solely by AI remains mediocre, as genuine creation requires human judgment in aesthetics, narrative, and emotional depth—elements currently lacking in most AI short dramas. Creators must develop both technical and artistic skills, a process of continuous learning and adaptation without a definitive guide.

Professor Liu offered a more critical perspective from a business standpoint, describing the current AI short drama boom as a data-driven assembly line producing "canned content" supported by platform capital, rather than genuine artistic production. He cautioned the industry against misinterpreting temporary audience acceptance of low-quality content as a preference for it, comparing the situation to offering coarse food when a feast is desired but not provided by the market.

Many production companies treat AI technology as a panacea, but in reality, professionals across the industry chain face increasing pressure, effectively "working for AI" in a highly competitive environment. Some argue that AI short drama production has become a labor-intensive sector. Downstream, numerous part-time "prompt engineers," animators, and small production teams grapple with intense workloads and low-price competition. Many companies previously focused on short dramas, comic-style dramas, or even longer series and variety shows shifted to AI-simulated content in the first quarter of the year, leading to layoffs, new hires, and internal retraining.

Beibei's experience reflects this trend. The business model for AI short dramas heavily relies on platform subsidies. When a major platform like Hongguo eliminated minimum revenue guarantees for small and medium-sized producers, script approval rates plummeted from around 30% to just 7.5%. This put significant pressure on companies that depended on high output and guaranteed income to survive. Professor Liu summarized the situation starkly: the profitability of AI short dramas was contingent on platform payouts; without that support, producers face immediate difficulties.

Wu Gang, a veteran film and television professional, explained that between October and December of the previous year, platforms prioritized "volume" over technical sophistication, offering favorable revenue terms for simple AI-narrated slideshows. During that period, producers could operate with minimal technical requirements, using low-cost labor, such as interns or vocational school graduates paid meager salaries, to mass-produce content. However, seasoned professionals were often unwilling to participate due to low production rates—typically only 600-800 yuan per minute—which, after accounting for computing costs, left minimal profit. Consequently, production was frequently outsourced.

Professor Liu believes the true value of AI lies in "de-industrializing" production, not in creating more efficient assembly lines. AI should liberate creators from capital and technical constraints, allowing them to refocus on storytelling, character development, and emotional resonance. This could push the industry away from the traditional model of "high investment, long cycles, and low efficiency" towards a more advanced model of "low cost, short timelines, and high output."

The real danger, according to Liu, is not AI writing scripts, but humans using AI as a crutch and abandoning critical thinking. When production companies define creation as a "fully automated assembly line," it is not jobs that disappear, but the very essence of what makes drama meaningful. In other words, AI itself is not the problem; the issue is the industry's choice to use it in the laziest, most short-sighted way—reducing creation to data labeling, turning writers into prompt laborers, and treating short dramas as disposable inputs for algorithmic traffic distribution.

Liu contends that the democratization of creation should mean equal opportunity, not the leveling of artistic ability. Lowering technical barriers does not eliminate aesthetic standards; true creative empowerment involves the freedom to express, not the homogenization of output.

The AI short drama trend has attracted not genuine creators but opportunistic speculators. On platforms like Douyin, Xiaohongshu, and Video Channels, advertisements promise that "AI short dramas are the next wealth frontier," offering "zero-based monthly earnings of 100,000 yuan" and portraying them as "the last chance for ordinary people to succeed." Various training camps and courses, priced from 99 to over 10,000 yuan, claim to enable students to "learn in three days and recoup costs in a week."

Investigations reveal that these courses often consist of basic, outdated information or are simply repackaged versions of free tutorials. Many paying students find themselves unable to produce viable content, let alone achieve the promised high incomes. Some entities go further, falsely advertising on job platforms that "vocational school graduates with no experience can get started" and promising high earnings for beginners, which often turns out to be deceptive recruitment practices.

Wu Gang stated that most individuals selling AI film and television training courses are not industry professionals but opportunists capitalizing on information asymmetry during market trends. They lack understanding of video monetization and marketing fundamentals, instead packaging "AI dramas" as a novel product to attract novices into paying for courses. According to Wu, the scripts selected by such entities are of extremely low quality and cannot compete with work produced by professionals familiar with industry standards.

He also noted that legitimate production teams are scarce. Many entities offering courses and freelance work are essentially fraudulent, indifferent to production quality or long-term collaboration, as they are not genuine industry insiders. Their typical scheme involves collecting an upfront fee, often one-third of the projected computing cost, then delivering shoddy work or disappearing entirely.

According to disclosures from BOSS Zhipin, some recruiters have falsely advertised positions for "AI Drama Generation Interns," only to demand a 2,000 yuan "tuition fee" from applicants. Others have exploited the trend by offering training disguised as employment, with their primary revenue coming from student fees rather than content creation.

In response to the chaos in the AI short drama sector, regulatory authorities have taken action. New regulations for AI comic-style dramas, effective April 1, 2026, require all existing unregistered works to be removed from platforms. New productions must undergo a filing process before release. The regulations introduce a three-tier review system based on investment amount and genre, mandate clear "AI-generated" labeling, and prohibit content involving vulgarity, unauthorized adaptation of classics, or unlicensed use of real-person likenesses.

This establishes a dual-review system involving both broadcasting authorities and platforms, moving beyond the previous model of platform self-regulation.

Professor Liu remains confident in the enduring appeal of high-quality content. He believes that well-made films and series, regardless of length, will always find an audience. If inferior products can dominate the market, it indicates that the "good currency" is not prevailing. Tools can enhance capabilities, but stories and ideas are what ensure longevity. While tools will become ubiquitous, the artistic mind that masters them holds the ultimate advantage.

After being laid off, Beibei continues to seek work as a scriptwriter, recognizing the need to adapt to the changes brought by AI. Wu Gang, now leading a team of over forty people in his own venture, also faces the imperative of transitioning towards AI-assisted creation. (Note: The names Beibei and Wu Gang are pseudonyms.)